


License and Registration (the Hello, Officer remix)

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Keith, Cop! Keith, Fluff and Humor, Handcuffs, M/M, Sheith Remix 2019, Top Shiro, astrophysicist! shiro, drunken meet-awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: He swings open the door, clearing his throat as he does so, and stops. In the doorway stand two men. They’re dressed up as officers, sure, but with the eyes and lips and hair that one of them sports, there’s no way they actually are. The man is gorgeous. He’s all long, lean limbs and pretty doe eyes of the deepest blue. His hair is messier than any cop Shiro’s ever seen, and one of his perfect eyebrows is hitched ever so slightly in the most appealing way Shiro has ever seen. He sways slightly on his feet from the beauty. Or the jungle juice. Whatever.He grins down on the men before him before canting his head back over his shoulder. “Okay, I told you guys no strippers!”for his birthday, shiro gets a party and a gift of a very different kind.





	License and Registration (the Hello, Officer remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wincechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hello, Officer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993204) by [wincechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters). 



> i was so, so excited about the idea of a sheith remix, and even more excited when i found out i would be writing for [jess](https://twitter.com/maccachino)! her fics are so much fun, and [Hello, Officer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993204) is seriously one of the funnest stories i've ever read.
> 
> i decided to do a straight up pov switch, because i really wanted to explore how shiro would approach this series of events, so there's a ton of the same dialogue, but viewed in a different light.
> 
> i really hope you enjoy it, and thank you for the chance to write this for you!
> 
> additionally, i'd like to give a huge shout out to hwt for cheering me on, and to my big bae [mei](https://twitter.com/belovedsheith?lang=en) for the encouragement and beta work! ilu so much!!!

There are very few things from college that Shiro truly retains — his love of snapbacks, his inability to cook complicated dishes, his love of a good party (even if he doesn’t party all that often).

And Matt knows how to throw the best parties.

Which would maybe be odd considering Matt’s general appearance and skill in all things robotic and mechanical, but when he stops to think about it, Shiro is hard pressed to come up with another person he knows who truly deserves to let loose every so often _more_ than Matthew “I don’t know when to sleep” Holt. Maybe that’s why Shiro doesn’t argue very much when Matt insists they throw a rager for his 28th birthday, even if it’s a tradition they should probably let go of.

Still, Shiro does have to give his perfunctory, “I dunno, Matty…I think maybe we should just do something relaxed this year. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Okay, but not everybody turns seven _twice,_ Shiro. Honestly, if you don’t let me throw you this party, it would be more of a disgrace to my name than anything I’ve ever done. Even more than the _incident._ ”

Shiro shudders. It’s unfair of Matt to even say the word. They promised they would never speak of it again.

“It’s not even a leap year, th—”

“So,” Matt announces, clapping his hands together. “You’re going to let me throw you this party, and you’re going to show up to this party you’re going to let me throw, and you’re going to have a good time at this party you’re going to let me throw. Willingly. Or I’ll kill you.”

Shiro laughs at Matt’s faux-deadly expression. “Yeah, okay. But no strippers! I don’t want a repeat of the last time you thought that was a good idea.”

“Shiro!” Matt throws an insulted hand across his chest, the very picture of Scarlett O’Hara levels of insult. “How dare you think of your best friend that way! Why, I would never besmirch your good name!”

“It wasn’t his _name_ that was besmirched last time, if I remember correctly,” Pidge interrupts, strolling into the room. “What’s up, nerds?”

Matt rolls his eyes at his sister. “Shiro’s turning seven, we’re throwing a party.”

“Nice.”

“Right? So get Hunk to cook some snacks or whatever. I’m gonna call Romelle about those jello shots she makes.” Matt whips his phone out of his back pocket and starts scrolling.

Pidge grunts her agreement. “Sounds good to me.”

And just like that, Shiro is left alone in his best friend’s living room, contemplating when they’ll all just...settle down with this. Not that it isn’t fun or anything, but sometimes Shiro thinks that maybe he ought to be moving on to the next phase of his life. Whatever that may be. Maybe find a man and settle down? Get a dog? Or a cat? Or a guinea pig? He’s never had pets really, so he’s not sure what kind of animal person he’d be.

Shiro supposes it’s irrelevant enough, wandering off on these tangents of thought. He’s got more important things to do. Like try to decide what to wear for his second seventh birthday. He has no one to impress, but he still likes to look nice, especially when a shindig is all about him.

 

+++

 

Shiro figures an MIT shirt is nice enough. At the very least, it shows off all the hard work he puts in to keeping his body strong enough to support his prosthetic. This newest arm Pidge helped Allura design for him isn’t nearly as heavy as his last one, but he still has to keep himself in good enough shape to support the extra weight. The clean, white look is something he sincerely appreciates, though. It reminds him of the rocket ships he once dreamed of piloting.

The music in the apartment is already loud when he arrives, throwing the door open unceremoniously. The place is full of bodies, most of them familiar, some of them not so much. Among them, he’s fairly certain he sees the face of his ex, which is a real choice on Matt’s part. He’ll have to address that sometime this evening.

“Hey! You made it!” A skinny arm throws itself around Shiro’s shoulders, and he smiles over at Pidge in greeting.

“I wouldn’t miss it!” Shiro shouts.

“Good! If you did, I think Matt would skin you alive!” Pidge shoves a red plastic cup full of...something into Shiro’s hand. He takes a deep swig before realizing how much of a mistake it is, the hot pink liquid searing its way down his throat. He gasps after his swallow and Pidge smirks up at him. “Plenty more where that came from, big guy!”

Plenty indeed.

Shiro crushes four more cups before the room starts floating, and by the time that happens, the music is even louder than before. Shiro’s feeling good, glancing fondly at a few pictures from their college days hanging up on the wall, when there’s a banging on the door. Hunk is mid-keg stand in the kitchen, and the cheers drown out the banging until it comes again, even louder this time, with a commanding shout from the hallway.

“Police! Open up!”

All talking ceases dramatically, in perfect 90’s teen movie fashion, and someone hisses _shit, the police!_

“Shiro, get the door!” Matt calls from the living room.

Shiro barely refrains from whining. “Why do I have to get it?!”

“Because you’re the closest!”

_Fuck._ He has a point. Someone turns down the stereo while Shiro marches determinedly to the door, plastering on the best charming smile he can muster. This is no big deal. He can just _Hello, officer, I’m so sorry for the noise, officer_ his way out of this, and they’ll be off the hook. Easy peasy.

He swings open the door, clearing his throat as he does so, and stops. In the doorway stand two men. They’re dressed up as officers, sure, but with the eyes and lips and hair that one of them sports, there’s no way they actually are. The man is gorgeous. He’s all long, lean limbs and pretty doe eyes of the deepest blue. His hair is messier than any cop Shiro’s ever seen, and one of his perfect eyebrows is hitched ever so slightly in the most appealing way Shiro has ever seen. He sways slightly on his feet from the beauty. Or the jungle juice. Whatever.

He grins down on the men before him before canting his head back over his shoulder. “Okay, I told you guys no strippers!”

“Shiro,” Matt says, horrified, “no one ordered strippers.”

Pidge tears off into a fit of giggles as Shiro turns fully away from the officers and jabs a thumb in dark and stormy’s direction. “But real police aren’t this hot!”

Officer McGorgeous looks downright stricken as his partner quirks his mouth in amusement and snorts. It could be the alcohol talking, but Shiro is pretty sure the officer’s face flushes as he fishes in his pocket and produces a badge.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says, and Shiro very nearly clutches his chest. His voice is just as beautiful as he is. It’s all deep and gravelly, like a desert dust storm or something equally as poetic and destructive. Shiro mentally high fives himself. He always has his best thoughts when he drinks. “Can we come in? We can do this in the hallway, but I’m sure you don’t want your neighbors to see you getting a ticket.”

Shiro knows he cracks a joke about coming, and maybe it’s crass of him, but he just can’t quite bring himself to feel ashamed when the cop’s face turns such a pretty pink in return. He hands his ID over as requested, making sure to brush their fingers together, and continues to chatter as the cop writes him something. Hopefully a copy of his number.

Turns out it’s a ticket.

Shiro throws himself down onto Matt’s coffee table in despair.

“It’s my birthday, you know.”

The cop doesn’t even look up, only checks his watch and continues on scribbling dispassionately. “Is it?” he replies absently.

“Uh huh,” Shiro says, nodding. Nodding feels like the most appropriate action to take here. Just so the officer knows how amenable of a person he is.

“How old are you turning?” the cop asks, and Shiro can feel it. It’s his time to shine. He straightens himself to his full height and throws his shoulders back.

“Seven,” he says seriously.

The officer stops writing and abruptly looks up to Shiro. He blinks silently several times before croaking a confused, “What?”

_Got him._

“It’s true. I was born on a leap day.”

The officer looks at his watch again. It isn’t a leap year; this much Shiro remembers.

“So today’s not _actually_ your birthday.”

Shiro frowns to himself. He’d thought he would stick the landing better and he’s absolutely crushed that the officer doesn’t go along with him. The officer hands off his ticket and makes to leave until Shiro begs him to stay, to allow him to give him money to pay the ticket directly, to allow him to hear his voice again.

The officer grabs his partner and leaves in a rush, taking all remaining sound in the room with him.

Matt sidles up and plops himself down on the coffee table beside Shiro, gusting out a deep breath. Shiro leans his head sadly on Matt’s shoulder, gusting out a long sigh. Matt throws his arm around Shiro’s shoulder, patting him kindly on the back.

“He didn’t stay,” Shiro whines.

“Sure didn’t.”

“He wasn’t a stripper.”

“Sure wasn’t.”

 

+++

  


“Shiro, you big, precious, golden retriever, have I got a gift for you!”

Shiro loves Matt. He loves him dearly. Matt is his closest friend on all of the earth, and the one man who knows absolutely everything about him. He reminds himself of this fact as a migraine suddenly mounts behind his eyeballs. He rolls his eyes and flips the page of the journal he’s reading.

“And what, exactly, is the gift?”

“You have to wait for it. It’s a gift, not a tell-Shiro-about-the-thing-Matt-got-him-and-then-give-it-to-him.”

“Fair enough,” Shiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can I have a hint? Or did you just call to distract me?”

“Mostly the second one. But, I think you’ll really like the gift.”

“Okay.”

“I’m bringing it to M and M night.”

“So instead of just bringing it tonight and telling me about it then, you decided to call me and tell me now?”

“I need you prepared. Wear a good shirt.”

“What?” Shiro asks, but the line is already disconnected.

There’s nothing for it, he’ll wear a good shirt.

 

+++

 

The group has already coalesced when a straggler arrives — the officer Shiro tried fruitlessly to block from his mind. Shiro’s soul swiftly departs his body and makes its way toward the heavens. _Goodbye,_ he thinks, _it was nice having you for a while._

It’s been excruciating, living the days since the party. All Shiro’s been able to think about is the officer’s long fingers as he wrote Shiro’s ticket, his lips as they quirked at Shiro’s truthfully godawful jokes and come-ons, the mess of black hair nested atop his head. He’d thought, with some small seed of hope, that maybe his drunken mind had simply keyed up his reactions to the man. Maybe he wasn’t quite so attractive, as graceful in his manner of walking, or as beautiful in his tone of speech.

But as Pidge introduces the man — Keith (even his _name_ suits him) — to the group at large, and he says quiet hellos, Shiro finds himself terribly mistaken. He’s all long legs and lean, toned muscles wrapped up in ripped jeans and a v-neck tee that cling to him _just so,_ emphasizing the perfectly cut lines of his body.

Keith’s eyes land on him and Shiro’s entire body locks up, a predator under the hunter’s gun.

“O-Officer Kogane!”

Keith winces at the formality. “I’m off duty. It’s Keith tonight.”

Stupid, Shiro is so stupid! “I’m Shiro,” he says, stupidly, offering his stupid hand. “But you already know that.”

Stupid.

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile and Shiro floods with hot embarrassment when he says a quiet, “Yeah.”

Everyone else pulls out their bags and backpacks, unpacking their equipment and settling in for the night’s campaign. Matt excuses himself to the bathroom and without a second thought, Shiro zips after him, hot on his trail. He practically body slams Matt into the wall next to the bathroom and hisses in his face.

“How could you do this to me? Matt, seriously!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Shiro.” Matt sounds bored in the way he says it. The flames engulfing Shiro burn hotter, searing his brain stem clean out, along with any sense he had left in his body.

“I can’t believe you invited the officer who wrote me a damn ticket when I was drunk off my ass!”

Matt doesn’t react, doesn’t even move. He simply crooks an eyebrow upward and levels Shiro with his very best dead stare. “You’re telling me you’re upset about seeing him again?”

Shiro’s reaction is complicated. It’s a combination of spluttering, and wild hand motions, and dragging a sweating palm down his face. Seeing Keith again felt very much like seeing the corpse of a man Shiro murdered and vowed very seriously never to speak of again.

“That’s not the point, Holt! I made an _idiot_ of myself in front of him!” Shiro argues. “God, I called him a _stripper_. I said he was too hot to be a cop!”

Matt still looks supremely unimpressed at Shiro’s outburst.

“Chill out, Shirogane. I’m sure he’s dealt with all sorts of idiotic comments on the job, looking like he does.”

“I want to die.” And he does. He wants to join his soul where it orbits, somewhere in the upper atmosphere, keeping benevolent guard over Earth.

A throat clears from behind him, and he and Matt both spin around to find Keith stepping out from around a pillar in the middle of the room. “Listen, I’m going to go.”

Matt unsubtly edges away, presumably to grab his drink and watch the show from afar. Or maybe to give them a little privacy. One can never be too sure as far as a Holt is concerned, Shiro often finds. But that’s not the focus right now.

He isn’t sure how to form the right words to address this. “Keith! You heard―”

“Hey. Yeah, but it’s fine. I’m just going to―” He points towards the door.

“You don’t have to do that.” _Please don’t do that,_ Shiro thinks. It might be weird to say it out loud, but he hopes beyond hope he can telegraph his intent. Truthfully, this is an extremely funny occurrence, even if Shiro is unsure how long it will take for his heart to agree with his mind on that point.

Keith laughs, but he clearly doesn’t find humor in the situation. “Pretty sure I do. It’s fine, okay? I thought―it doesn’t matter what I thought. You’re clearly uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to make it weird. We can just forget this ever happened.”

But Shiro _can’t_ do that. He can’t forget Keith, he can’t ignore the flutter of butterflies that fill his stomach when he catches Keith’s eyes on him. He can’t forget the fact that even if he was drunk and stupid and _disgusting_ the first time they met, Keith still came around again to see him.

Shiro plucks Keith’s wrist out of midair when he turns to leave.

It takes a little arguing and begging for Shiro to convince Keith to stick around and play a bit of their campaign with the group. Shiro can’t apologize enough for his behavior, and he hopes beyond hope that Keith understands the depth of his mortification. He prays that the cup of coffee he buys for Keith does enough.

Eventually Keith relents, allowing Shiro to talk him into staying for the game, during which Shiro manages to die a truly impressive amount of times. Somehow, though, Keith is almost supernaturally good. Like, Shiro almost suspects that he’s actually played before even though he insists he’s never even heard of it.

“If you think my dice rolling skills are good, you should see how I work a slot machine,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow in jest. He gives the slightest smirk, and his beauty punches Shiro right in the sternum. Keith’s gorgeous and cocky, and if the room weren’t full of his friends, Shiro would drop to his knees right now.

“Wow.” Shiro comes to his senses at Pidge’s voice. She and the rest of the table are watching them, chins propped up in their hands with eyes wide and scandalized. “It’s like watching National Geographic over here.”

Matt leans against her with a juice bottle in hand. In his best interpretation of Steve Irwin he cuts a judgemental look. “And here we see the Shirogane in the wild, attempting to woo his mate. Let’s watch, as he displays the typical courtship behavior of―”

“Oh my god,” Shiro interrupts. He’s had enough mortification for one lifetime. “Shut the hell up, Matt.”

Matt laughs openly at Shiro’s misfortune and ushers Pidge out of the booth. “We gotta get going anyway. I’ve got a date with a bunch of sexy microbots in the morning. Let’s go, Katie.”

Fortunately, everyone else follows their lead, leaving Shiro and Keith alone. They talk and laugh and _flirt_ , and it feels like they’re close to something when Keith’s phone rings, breaking the mood. There’s something happening downtown, and Keith’s brows scrunch up as he takes in whatever it is he’s told over the phone. The air around them sours, and Shiro can feel his mood go with it.

Keith is bright and brilliant and Shiro is loathe to let him go when he says he’s needed to help.

As he gathers himself to go do his job, Keith pauses. He turns to Shiro, a serious expression on his face that freezes Shiro in place. Keith rushes forward, gathering Shiro by the lapels of his jacket and crushing their mouths together.

Keith leaves with his bottom lip between his teeth and Shiro’s heart in his hands.

And without giving Shiro his number.

 

+++

  


Shiro mopes for _days._

He goes through his routine lifelessly, only doing enough to get by while he dreams about Keith’s kiss-slick mouth and strong, gentle hands. Even his occasional students notice his listlessness. He just can’t help it. All he thinks about is each moment he could be spending with Keith, if only he had thought straight for once in his life. All he can see is each missed opportunity throughout their time together. It’s a very kicked-puppy sort of feeling, and he doesn’t know how to snap himself out of it.

Eventually, Matt corners him in his office. “What in the absolute stone cold fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shiro hedges. “I’m just checking some equations.”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” Matt hisses. He slams a business card down on the desk. Shiro’s eyes widen when he picks it up and realizes what it is. It’s the business card for the chief of the local police precinct. Shiro doesn’t ask why or how or when he got it, he just looks down at it in confusion until Matt speaks again. “Go get your man, dude. I’m sick of looking at you.”

Shiro leans back in his creaky desk chair, contemplating the business card in his hand. He really would like to see Keith again, but then again, what if Keith doesn’t want to see him, too? He’s a cop, right? So it would stand to reason that he would be able to find Shiro if he really wanted to. It wouldn’t be all that difficult.

Doesn’t that mean, then, that maybe Keith wasn’t all that into everything as he seemed to be? It’s a very real possibility and Shiro isn’t sure his heart could take that sort of rejection. Keith is too far out of his league to lose it on a chance he maybe shouldn’t take. Maybe Keith is giving him a hint that he should listen to.

“I can see your gears turning, man,” Matt says. Shiro didn’t even realize he hadn’t left. Matt sighs. “Look, I know we don’t have this conversation very often, but you know I love you, right? That I only want the best for you?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” Matt _was_ the first one there after Shiro’s arm loss, after all.

“Good. So believe me when I say that you deserve this, dude. You’re the best person I know. You’re the best person _any of us_ know. That guy was the first person I’ve ever seen you eat your proverbial shit over like this. What’s the worst that could happen, huh? He arrests you?”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the best thing.”

Matt smirks down at Shiro. “I dunno. You might be into the whole handcuff thing.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Shiro scoffs.

“Not until you try, anyway,” Matt says with a snort. “Alright, big guy! Let’s go!” Matt tugs Shiro up out of his seat by the hands, shoving him haphazardly toward the door. “You’ve got a skinny little grump cop to win over!”

Shiro laughs loudly at that and relents, allowing Matt to push him down the hall. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Shiro just needs to take the chance. Who knows, it could actually pay off.

Before he knows it, he ends up at the precinct, staring up at the building from behind his steering wheel. He taps his fingers anxiously against the leather as he considers what he’ll do once he ends up inside. Does he ask for Keith? For Officer Kogane? Does he make up an excuse as to why he’s there?

He supposes he’ll just have to wing it.

He rolls into the precinct and stops at the desk, giving the receptionist his best charming expression. The woman looks back at him, completely unimpressed, but Shiro doesn’t let it stop him, he _can’t_.

“Is, uh, Keith Kogane here?” he asks, to which the receptionist just raises an eyebrow and hums.

From somewhere in the back, someone screeches, “Keith?!”

It’s the officer that was with Keith during stripper-geddon, and as he emerges, his face lights up in recognition. “It’s you! Ol’ loverboy beefcake mcmuscles!”

Shiro stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

The man waves an unbothered hand around in the air. “Unimportant. Hold on a minute.”

He disappears somewhere into the back of the office, and not but a few moments later, Keith bursts through a swinging door into the lobby. He seems slightly out of breath, tumbling into the lobby gracelessly, but then he smiles and Shiro is lost. He can feel his cheeks heat up beneath the intensity of Keith’s brightness.

“Hey, Shiro. What are you doing here?”

Shiro pauses for a moment, brain stuttering to come up with an excuse beyond _I think you’re gorgeous and forgot to get your number and I really want to take you out and smooch you again, is that weird?_ “I came to pay my ticket. Fifteen days right?”

“Uh huh.” Keith crosses his arms, but the motion is more amused than anything. He looks so relaxed here, in his element. “You know you don’t pay your fines at the actual police station right? You go to the courthouse. Or, you know, you can just go online. The internet’s a thing, now.”

Fuck. He should have known he’d be caught out. Keith’s a literal cop. Not that Shiro tried very hard to come up with a cover in the first place. He scratches his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, okay, you caught me.”

Keith’s smile softens as Shiro steps toward him.

“I just wanted to see my favorite officer,” Shiro says. Keith leans forward, as if following the sound of Shiro’s voice. “And get his phone number and ask if he wanted to go on a date with me.”

“Damn,” Keith says jokingly, “and here I was hoping it was my lucky day. Who’s the guy?”

“Maybe you know him.” Shiro smiles, feeling encouraged. Keith’s eyes are bright and sparkling with amusement, and Shiro would probably do several illegal things to see that expression continue. Even in the middle of a police precinct. “Looks like he could kill you with his bare hands, legs that go on forever, a mullet that shouldn’t look good but really, really, does?”

Keith blushes bright and beautiful. “Give me your damn phone.”

Shiro rushes to obey. “Text yourself so you have my number, too. And I was serious about the date―if you want to?”

“I have to head back to work before Lance decides to come spy on us, but I get off in an hour.” Keith hands the phone back. Shiro’s spine tingles in victory. “What are you doing later?”

He was supposed to be grading papers for Slav, but there is literally nothing else he’d like to do less. His calendar can afford clearing. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Good. I’ll text you my address.” Keith levels Shiro with the type of look that could melt steel. It’s the kind of look that could unearth wooly mammoths from deep in the heart of Siberian glaciers. It’s the sort of look that makes Shiro feel like his spinal column is pooling in his ass. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Shiro says helplessly as Keith saunters away. He’s gotta get home and take a cold shower.

 

+++

 

Keith is damp and beautiful when he answers the door for Shiro. He’s dressed like a teenage wet dream, which is a lot for Shiro’s soul to handle, and he just can’t help the way his eyes rake over Keith’s body as he stands in the doorway waiting for an entry invitation.

“Nice place,” Shiro says, looking around as if he’s not exceedingly anxious to get his hands on the man in front of him. “Yours?”

“Bought it a couple years back.” Keith beckons Shiro inside. “Make yourself at home.”

There’s just one thing Shiro really needs to feel at home. Which is a weird thought, considering they don’t really know each other all that well. But Shiro has a good feeling about this, and his instincts are rarely ever wrong.

“Um,” he says haltingly, his hands held awkwardly at his sides. “I want to...Can I―?”

Keith looks confused at Shiro’s sudden unsurety. “Can you…?”

Shiro steps close to Keith carefully, reaching out with shaking hands to pull him closer by the hip. He telegraphs his motions to give Keith the chance to escape if need be — he really hopes there’s no need — and leans in close. Keith’s eyes slip closed and he tilts his face up to meet Shiro halfway. It’s a rush of adrenaline and victory as Shiro hurries to complete the kiss. It’s soft but sure, gentle and lovely. Keith pulls him in for another before he lets Shiro escape.

They make quiet greetings after that, chatting about the delicious smelling lasagna Keith has cooking while they settle in. Eventually, dinner is served and they talk more while they eat. Shiro invites Keith to more Monster and Mana nights and Keith promises to make Shiro mac and cheese the next time they see each other.

The promise warms Shiro to his very core. “There’s going to be a next time?” he asks hopefully.

“God, I hope so,” Keith says, and leans forward to kiss Shiro again. Shiro wastes no time in deepening it, drawing Keith closer into the cradle of his own body. His body burns for the spitfire in his arms. Their kiss seems to go on forever, stoking the bright embers of desire in Shiro’s gut into an all out blaze.

“Will you come to my bedroom?” Keith asks. His voice is like smoke in the woods, deep and crackling as it curls around Shiro’s senses. It’s alluring and sensual, and Shiro can’t help but follow the siren call of its tone.

“Please, yes.”

Shiro follows Keith helplessly as he’s led down the hall, skin tingling with anticipation.

It takes much longer than Shiro would personally prefer, getting to Keith’s room. He can’t much complain, because most of the delay is at his very own hands — he can’t stop slowing down progress by pressing Keith into the walls to claim his mouth with searing kisses. He can’t stop running his mouth and teeth and tongue over the delicate skin of Keith’s neck and ears, breathing hot and heavy into the spaces carved between his bones and sinew.

After a pointed tug of his teeth on Keith’s earlobe, Keith finally has enough of Shiro’s lollygagging, and tugs him forcefully into his bedroom. He manipulates Shiro every which way he wants, tugging him out of the henley he’d carefully selected for their meeting. As Shiro emerges from the fabric with a smile carved deep across his face, he glances over Keith’s shoulder, and his heart promptly drops straight to his dick so it can pump the blood directly where he needs it most.

Keith notices his distraction and pauses, looking up at him in concern.

“What?”

What little blood hasn’t been rerouted to Shiro’s groin floods his face, heating his cheeks. He can imagine it now, Keith all dressed up in his neatly pressed uniform, reading Shiro his rights as he cuffs him to the bed and has his wicked way with him. One of Keith’s shiny, polished shoes pressing into his sternum with intent. His dress gloves, in all their pristine whiteness, dragging across his thighs, his hips, his ass, pausing to slap him harshly across both cheeks. Shiro closes his eyes and gulps.

Keith shoots a look over his shoulder to where Shiro’s attention is focused. He snorts at Shiro. “Seriously?”

“What?” Shiro says, giving Keith another hot kiss like an offering upon a most sacred altar. “You look hot in it.”

“You have a uniform kink, Shiro?” Keith raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Not really―I mean, I don’t think…” Shiro pauses in his instinctual self-defense to think, to just really _think_ about it. Does he have a uniform kink? He’s met plenty of people in uniforms before. Hell, he’s met plenty of cops in his lifetime. He’s met plenty of _attractive_ cops, even.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I guess I’m glad you like it,” Keith says, although he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

But that’s not it at all, Shiro realizes. He doesn’t have a uniform kink. He’s got plenty of other ones, though. He’s got a thing for cut cheekbones and serious brows. He’s got a thing for wild manes of unruly black hair. He’s got a thing for the pretty bow of lips, the graceful curve of neck, the lean cut of muscles that are stronger than they appear.

“I like you.”

Keith seems pleased with the answer. He takes a step away, loosening himself from the circle of Shiro’s arms. Shiro whines in protest, but he’d never admit to it if asked. Keith ignores him, staring contemplatively at the uniform. “You want me to wear it while we fuck? Want me to use my handcuffs on you?”

Shiro’s blushing. He knows he’s blushing. He’s been hard for a little bit now, but he nearly needs to sit down with the force of the blood pumping through his dick. He stares across at Keith and can’t believe his luck. He’s like an angel. A sexy, pressed-slack angel.

Keith laughs loud, a precious, guffawing sound as he plucks his handcuffs from the belt of his uniform. “That’s a hard yes.”

Keith peels his shirt off slowly, stalking toward Shiro with heat radiating off of him, dangling the cuffs from a single extended finger. He smirks as he pulls up close, pressing their chests together and tucking the handcuffs in his back pocket and reaches for Shiro’s fly.

Shiro very nearly doesn’t notice his pants and underwear slipping away from his body, so engrossed in Keith as he is. His aura is completely different like this. He’s pouring confidence and control, an aura of command painted all over him as he backs Shiro up to the bed. Shiro hurries to remove his socks and is helpless to Keith’s whims as he presses a hand to the center of Shiro’s chest and presses him back against the headboard.

Shiro’s hard cock flops around helplessly between them, and if it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t entirely know what he wants to do with his hands right now, he’d probably be tugging it just to see Keith’s reaction. Keith’s gaze rakes appreciatively across the entirety of Shiro’s skin, pausing at the curve of his dick.

Shiro reaches out, taking Keith by the hips and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He doesn’t feel the least bit exposed like this, more comfortable than he’s been in his body in a very long time, but he doesn’t want to be naked all alone. He wants to see and feel and appreciate every inch of Keith in his entirety. He wants to put his mouth on more than just Keith’s neck. He wants to worship and praise and exalt the man beneath his hands.

He wants to wreck him.

He wants to be wrecked by him.

“You too?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Keith says, tugging his pants off unceremoniously. He trips himself up in the fabric, seemingly distracted by Shiro’s body. He knows the feeling. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Shiro laughs. It’s the most ridiculous thing, having a literal deity tell you of your beauty. “Look who’s talking.” His hands latch on to Keith’s body, pulling him as close as he possibly can. Keith is all compact power and strength in his hands. Somehow, without clothes he cuts an even more impressive image. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Keith throws a leg over Shiro’s waist, bending to kiss him hurriedly. Their cocks just barely brush together as they kiss, a delicious barely-there drag of skin. Just enough to really get Shiro going. His dick drips in anticipation.

Keith pulls away, a thin line of spit dangling between their mouths and stretching, stretching, stretching, until it finally snaps. Keith grins and holds up the forgotten handcuffs.

“You want―?”

There are so very many things that Shiro wants. He can’t even put them all in order in his head. “Um.”

Keith smiles down on him, a wry little thing full of promise. The handcuffs swing from his finger like a pendulum, waving to the beat of Shiro’s pulse. “Come on, Shiro, tell me what you want.”

There’s no thought to it at all. No pause to decide. “I want you,” Shiro says. “Anyway I can have you. But that could be...fun?”

It could be damn well more than fun, and he knows it. But he can’t come on too strong. He’s gotta play it cool. You know, hook Keith and then make sure it lasts. Although, maybe he’s way past the point of seeming anything less than extremely turned on and horribly flustered.

Keith presses himself down against Shiro’s body with purpose. His nose glides across the skin of Shiro’s cheek as he leans down to whisper in his ear. “Can I ride you while you’re cuffed to my bed?”

Okay, yep, fuck playing it cool. “God―fuck, yes, Keith, please.”

Keith snaps Shiro’s wrists in the cuffs expertly, and sits up with a purpose. “Don’t pull too hard, okay? These aren’t exactly comfy; don’t want you to hurt yourself. And tell me if you change your mind and want them off.”

Shiro wonders briefly if they should have a safe word. That’s a thing people do in these situations, right? Although, people in these situations might not get into them in quite the way Shiro has. Most people probably don’t have an actual cop cuff them to his bed before climbing into their lap.

“Okay, Officer,” Shiro growls and reaches back to hold onto the rails of the headboard. Keith’s face flushes red and he surges down to kiss Shiro again roughly. He pulls off with a wet pop and hops up, grabbing a bottle of lube from the bedside table. It’s partially used, and even if he doesn’t really have a claim to stake, Shiro can’t help but feel wildly jealous that he wasn’t the reason for Keith to christen the bottle.

Keith perches on top of Shiro once more as he slowly drizzles lube onto three of his fingers and reaches around to work himself open. He’s got one hand splayed across Shiro’s stomach, raising and lowering with each deep heave of Shiro’s muscles. Keith whines and squirms and puffs sweet words from between parted lips as he works one, then two, then three fingers into himself before Shiro just can’t take it anymore. He jerks against the mattress tugging at the cuffs and bouncing his thighs, trying his damndest to shuffle Keith closer to his dick. Shiro needs to be in that wet heat _yesterday_. Keith is glorious in his lap, but he’d be even better speared on his cock.

“Baby,” Shiro whines, gasps, begs. “Please, I need you―”

Keith shudders over him, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Okay.”

Keith rolls a condom down Shiro’s cock, taking his time and wrapping his hand around Shiro’s full length, slicking it up with excess lube. He tugs a little more than is entirely necessary, pulling an aborted gasp out of Shiro before raising himself up and sinking down slowly, spearing himself wide open on Shiro’s erection.

All the air evacuates Shiro’s lungs, he heaves and gasps, moans low and long as Keith scrunches his face up and bites his lip harder.

“Fuck,” Keith says, “fuck, you’re big.”

Shiro laughs at that, bouncing Keith in his lap ever so slightly with the sound. “I’m―sorry?”

Keith lets out a tiny moan. “Don’t be,” he says. “I fucking love it. You’re so fucking hot, Shiro.”

Keith squirms again in Shiro’s lap, presumably to adjust himself, but it pulls at Shiro just right, an involuntary moan spilling from his mouth as he jerks his hands against the pull of the handcuffs. God, but he wants to touch Keith so badly.

Keith smiles down at him and lifts his hips. He settles strong hands against Shiro’s chest and drops down in one fell swoop. He’s hot and wet and _tight_ around Shiro, and he feels like a teenager again, ready to come at any moment. Keith is relentless, rolling his hips with a purpose, taking Shiro in deep and steady. It’s so good, it’s so right, but it’s just not enough. Shiro needs to claim him, needs to prove that Keith doesn’t need any other dick in the world but his.

He scrunches his eyes and pants against a particularly pointedly roll of Keith’s body and _growls,_ snapping his hips to drive deep into the man straddling his lap.

Keith yelps in pleasured shock. He yelps again and again as Shiro does it again and again, driving himself up into the pliant body spread out just for him. Keith is wild and loud, accepting every little bit of himself that Shiro offers up. He’s gorgeous in his pleasure, all pink and slick with sweat, eyes rolling back in his head. Shiro bucks just right, and Keith shouts. _There it is,_ he thinks, smirking and planting his feet to fuck Keith even harder. Keith moans wantonly and freely, uncaring for any audience they may have. His shouts reverberate around the room, surrounding Shiro in a stereo surround of shared pleasure. He moans lowly at the sounds, the feelings, the smell.

It’s hot and musky and _incredible._ Shiro’s always loved the feeling of skin on skin, the tang of sweat and musk, but something about Keith’s particular flavor just hits him perfectly. He wants to see and touch and smell the concentrated essence straight from the source.

“Keith, baby, so fucking hot, Jesus Christ,” Shiro groans. His balls draw up tight to his body, ready for his own release. He can feel it coming like a train thundering down the tracks. “Can you―fuck, I want to touch you. Touch yourself for me, Keith, make yourself come.”

“Shiro,” Keith cries out and does as he’s told. He wraps a hand around himself and jerks carelessly, knuckles white with purpose. “Shiro, I’m gonna come.”

“Come, baby,” Shiro orders, and he obeys. Keith whines, a strangled, high-pitched thing in the back of his throat, and spills forcefully across Shiro’s stomach and chest. He grins in victory and quickly melts into pleased moans as Keith collects himself and sets back to riding him with abandon until finally, the thread snaps and Shiro comes hard, filling the condom separating their bodies.

Keith collapses into his chest, lost somewhere in the stars. Shiro would really love to join him, but-

“Keith,” he whines. “Keith,” he repeats, laughing and tugging at the handcuffs.

“Oh shit, sorry!” Keith hurries to unlock the cuffs using the key he’d left on the nightstand. As soon as his hands are free, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith, broad palms skimming possessively, hungrily over every inch of skin they can reach.

They get cleaned up, and Keith drags Shiro back into the bed, draping himself over Shiro and clinging. Shiro chuckles and wraps him up tight in his arms, pressing reverent kisses to the top of his head.

Maybe it’s about the glow of Keith’s skin and soul once he’s sleepy and sated and pressing sloppy kisses against Shiro’s skin.

“Next time,” Shiro says sleepily. “Next time, I’m cuffing you to the bed.”

Keith barely pauses in his response. “Okay,” he says, pressing one last kiss to Shiro’s skin before drifting off to sleep in his arms.

 

+++

 

“So what you’re telling me is that you two somehow managed to cobble together an entire relationship out of a hundred dollar ticket?”

And yeah, maybe the circumstances are a little funny, but Shiro doesn’t really think Matt needs to sound so surprised. He was, after all, one of the masterminds behind making this whole thing happen. His horse shouldn’t be quite so high, all things considered.

“You don’t need to say it like that,” Keith argues. “I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah,” Pidge agrees. “Like your freakish ability in M and M. I still don’t understand how you’ve managed to balance your stats this well. Not to be that guy, but I never really pegged you as a ranger, personally. Maybe more of a rogue.”

“Are you kidding?!” Lance says. Shiro suddenly wonders about the wisdom of inviting him to join their table as well. “The guy practically screams hunt-y loner! He oozes it! Look, you can practically _see_ the trail behind him!”

“That’s a bit rude,” Hunk says.

“Thank you, Hunk.” Keith looks relieved to have someone in his corner.

“Besides,” Hunk continues. Keith’s face falls. “He seems like more of the woodsman-y loner. I bet he can whittle. You can whittle, can’t you Keith?”

Keith’s face burns bright red. “That’s not important!” he splutters.

That means yes. Shiro’ll have to investigate that later.

“Too bad you can’t woodwork your way out of those handcuffs,” Pidge comments, noting Keith’s character — Thunderstorm Darkness’s — current predicament.

“Maybe I can’t,” Keith admits, a glint to his eyes. “But I have friends.”

Keith gives Shiro a sly grin, and Shiro smirks back. Everyone at the table groans. Even Coran.

“Jiro is next in the order,” he announces.

“I’ll use my action to pick the handcuff locks,” Shiro announces happily. Keith grins, and Shiro feels like they’ve already won the campaign.

“Jiro picks the locks, and Thunderstorm is freed from his shackles.”

“Thank you, Jiro. I was nearly worried I’d be stuck there forever,” Keith says, taking on his character’s growling voice.

“It was my pleasure,” Shiro says. “Perhaps we can discuss how you ended up in this mess over a tankard? Do you like mead?”

“I like a lot of things,” Keith purrs.

“Well, would you look at the time!” Hunk yelps, shooting up from the table, his dice scattering all over the floor. “I really gotta get out of here! You know how it is, busy day tomorrow!”

“Stop being so kind, Hunk,” Pidge says, tugging on his sleeve. “You can just say that they’re disgusting. We can all see it.”

The table murmurs their agreement. Keith flushes red again and even if everyone is correct that they make for a very gross couple, Shiro still can’t help but be helplessly fond over it. He smiles softly across the table as Keith puts his dice away. Matt had bought him his very own set, all metallic red with glittery black numbering. They matched his aesthetic perfectly.

Matt clears his throat, and when Shiro looks up to him, he’s smirking down upon him knowingly. “Seems like these two have a tankard of mead to share. Let’s go, Pidge.”

Everyone waves their goodbyes and take off, leaving Shiro and Keith alone in the cafe.

“Well,” Shiro begins slowly, waiting until Keith looks back to him. “You wanna tell me how Thunderstorm managed to let his guard down enough that he got all cuffed up around a tree?”

Keith pauses, then his gaze goes searingly hot. He leans across the table and settles a hand against Shiro’s forearm. “How about you take me home and I show you? I think I know someone with some handcuffs we can borrow.”


End file.
